The Blessed Realms
by Celridel
Summary: Arwen Undómiel sailed with her mother to Blessed Realms
1. Valimar

**A\N. For Ardhoniel Marvelite, who never fails to prompt me.  
**

It was with awe she softly stepped into the swelling surf. The sun-rippling waves came to her knees and surged, clear under her feet. She stepped upon the white sands and looked up. Trees the like of which she had never seen before towered above her, fairer than even the trees of Lothlorien. Lissuin flowers of deepest gold carpeted the green grass as she walked farther.

Arwen halted under a tree. It was shaped as a willow, but its trunk was smooth silver and branched upwards, and then like a fountain slender boughs fell down, clad in blossoms the hue of gloaming's violet. She laid a hand on the trunk and felt the life within. It brought a thrill to her heart. "So these are the Blessed Realms." she whispered. "How fair they are."

Without hesitation she sprang into the trees, letting the flowery curtain hide her. Life was thrilling through her blood, tingling in the air. The beauty was not that of noontide, soft and languid, but that of the brilliant morning. It shone with new life, flooding across the Lost Isle even as the light of dawn came upon them. Her heart verily ached for a joy she had never known and now would never leave her. She sat throughout the day, watching the comings and goings of the Blessed Realms, and found it twas the twilight that brought her the most delight, as it wove together the threads of day and night, clad in violet skies and silver stars, deep, profound, hanging in between the inevitable and the impossible, soft with sweetness, poignantly clear and timeless.

When it came Arwen slipped from the tree and wandered through the glades of Lairelossë and Nessamelda. Burdens she had never know she carried were lifted from her, and her feet were as light as sea foam. And so she danced and knew it not.

"It is said that Lúthien Tinúviel was a mortal. How comes she to the Blessed Realms and Tol Eressëa?"

Arwen spun round, the light silk of her garment swirling around her feet. An Elf stood watching her, long golden hair glimmering in the twilight. "I am not Lúthien Tinúviel." she said softly. "I am Arwen Undómiel."

"Indeed." said the Elf with a courteous bow. "And I am Inglorion, son of Finrod and Amarië."

"Well met." replied Arwen with a smile. "I have heard much of Finrod. He was a mighty warrior, one who could stand before the King of Darkness."

"Indeed he is." replied Inglorion, and his deep eyes were solemn. "But let us dwell on the doings of Morgoth no longer, not here."

"There will be a time when all of the Firstborn Race will go forth against him. So shall I, and so shall you, and he will fall."

"Who knows how many Ages away the End shall be, Lady Undómiel?"

"It may be tomorrow. It may."

"So it may, and it may not."

"But it is always wise to be prepared."

"You speak as one well versed in warfare." said Inglorion amiably.

"I have wielded sword before." replied Arwen.

"Indeed. It is not often that the nissi take to such weapons." replied Inglorion.

"We often do." retorted Arwen. "You may see that we fight among the neri."

"I believe it, at least amongst the Sindar and the Noldor. It is rare, though, among the Vanyar."

"You forget the Avari." muttered Arwen. "They have other customs than ours."

"So I have hard, and would wish to learn more." said Inglorion with a smile. "Will you not walk with me by the shore and tell of Middle-Earth? In turn, if you desire, I will tell you of the Lost Isle."  
Arwen consented. "I know not of what to tell you." she said at last, gazing out upon the sea. Telperion's waxing blossom reflected in the dark, shimmering waters. "Sauron has been gathering his forces, and Orcs multiply. We have suffered much at their hands." she added bitterly, remembering of her mother's torment in their vile dens.

"How?" Inglorion's fair face was troubled, a glint of anger in his eyes.

Arwen hesitated as hundred memories of grief came flooding back to her. "They took my mother and they took her soul, and left her bleeding body." Arwen paused. The agony of sleepless nights came back to her, as she sat with her Nana's head upon her lap and begged her to come back. The Orcs had tormented her, and as Arwen first beheld her, she saw a pale body, once long silver hair now shorn above the shoulders and entangled with dried blood. The blue eyes that had shone with life were empty of everything except pain. But as they sailed, a change had come upon her. Life was returning, a brilliant gleam to her eyes, and laughter had risen to her lips as she leapt ashore.

"I am sorry." said Inglorion, pulling her back to the present. "Sorrow is not often dwelt upon here."

"Sometimes joy is sweeter when mingled with sorrow." murmured Arwen.

"I see what you are saying, but I doubt it." returned Inglorion.

"When my mother was returned to me, I saw what I had lost and never fully appreciated. Now that she is healing and her heart is once more her own, now she is no longer ruled by fearful dreams of the past." replied Arwen.

Inglorion smiled at her. "Indeed, you prove your point well. But is there more than sorrow and pain in Middle-Earth?"  
"Middle-Earth will always be beautiful, Inglorion, because blood and tears watered it. The blood and tears of our people. Though, at the last, if every blossoms withers, a thousand memories of love will still bloom there."

"I see." he sighed, his face pensive as he gazed out over the sea. "Sometimes, I wish to follow the path of the Noldor and tread upon the land that lies beyond the waves. One day, I hope to see the fairest and proudest of their race. Have you heard of her?"

"Galadriel the White Lady. Or Artanis the Fair, as she is more often called here." said Arwen. "Aye indeed, for she is my foremother."

Inglorion stared at her. "Now that is no heritage to be ashamed of. Daughter of Galadriel upon the mother's side, I am correct. I have heard Galadriel had a daughter, though I do not recall her name."

Arwen nodded her head. "Lady Celebrían, born near Lake Evendim."

Who then did she wed?" asked Inglorion curiously.

"Elrond, son of Elwing and Ëarendil."

"Daughter of Dior, son of Lúthien, who in turn was the daughter of Melian, the Nightingales' Queen, who danced in Lórien." murmured Inglorion. "Indeed, renown and beauty flow freely through your blood, Lady Arwen, and I do not wonder that you bear the likeness of Lúthien."

"The beauty of Lúthien is not who I am." she answered, her voice sharper than she intended it to be. "My name is Arwen Undómiel, not Lúthien Tinúviel, and though I may be her daughter by descent I am not her."

"Pray forgive me." said Inglorion. "But many would think it the greatest honor to be held in comparison to Lúthien."

"I heard it too many times. But I am not like her. She never sailed. I have." replied Arwen. "She died. I live in the Undying Lands."

"And I am most glad you do." said Inglorion with smile, as the sea breeze twisted his golden hair back from his face. "Well then, Lady Arwen, may I escort you to your mother?"

Arwen sighed. "I do not know whither she might have gone, though I hope she has left for the gardens of Lórien and Estë. The tree was suitable companionship."

"Ai! Was that a slight?" laughed Inglorion. "Very well, thither I shall return you, and leave you to converse with it."

A smile crept across her face. "It was wearisome to only talk to a tree. Perhaps it can find abode for you, for a while."

Inglorion grinned. "I would be delighted."

They crept under the flowering curtain and into the silver branches. "Now tell me of the Lost Isle." demanded Arwen.

"I am in the same strait as you. The places where we dwell or dwelt are so familiar to use that we cannot justly describe them. It is fair as you see…..and filled with many fair Vanyar." he added.

"I hope you do not mean yourself!" she laughed, and he shook his head. "Nay, I am only half Vanyar, on my dear mother's side. I do not flatter myself that highly, but there are others who would be delighted to accompany you wherever you wish."

"Ah, and I had wished to escape that, hoping that the maidens would be fairer here." said Arwen with a wave of her hand. "I believe I shall stay here, in the tree. Do you have any other family then, Inglorion?"

"My brother Anorion and a sister, Amarel. They are twins."

"Younger?"

"Nay, older. I myself am the youngest."

"I have twin brothers as well." said Arwen. "I hope they may join me soon."

"If they bear any familial resemblance to you, half of even the Vanyar Maidens will find them irresistible."

"Alas! They are indeed fair, and have a charm of speech that will wheedle a soft spot in many a fair maiden, even if they do not do it intentionally." laughed Arwen. "They can hardly walk through Imladris without being followed."

"Such a hard fate. I pity them." said Inglorion solemnly, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

"I pity their followers. My brothers have little interest in anything now….save bloodshed." said Arwen. "I hope they will come here soon, ere some misfortune befalls them. That is one of the two things that held me back from sailing at first. I had hoped that perhaps I could restrain their blood wrath. The other was for my father."

"It may have been the better, for even if you could not persuade them to join you now, without you they may come the swifter."

"I hope so." answered Arwen. "Now Inglorion, I deeply desire to meet your family. Finrod is sung in many songs."

Inglorion leapt to the ground and offered her his hand, but she came lightly down with a smile. "Nay, though I thank you. It would be a poor tribute to my Sindar blood if I could not move through the trees. Come now."


	2. Finrod's Kin

They wandered through glades and meadows, though ever the roaring of the sea could be heard, now distant, now nearer, and Arwen gazed in wonder all about her, drawing in the beauty that smote her heart.

It was then they came over a vale and saw under a tree two figures. Both had the deep golden hair inherited from their parents. The _ellon_ showed a languid, cat-like grace as he lay on the grass, but the _elleth_ had a keener look, and she perched on a low branch .

"Hail, hail." murmured the _ellon_ , still staring up at the sky _._ "The lady has not spent a day in our midst, but you are already hanging on her arm."

"I am doing nothing of the kind." retorted Inglorion.

The _elleth_ slid down. "Pray, do not heed my brothers." she said, bowing to Arwen. "They are fools in their own rights. I am Amarel, daughter of Finrod and Amarië ."

"Arwen, daughter of Elrond and Celebrían."

Anorion had risen to his feet. "My sister has already introduced our parents, but she has said nothing about me to save to say that I am a fool."

"I only speak the truth." said Amarel with a smile.

"Anorion." said the _ellon_ with a deep bow. "You came with the Lady Celebrían, of course?"

"Yes. She traveling to the gardens of Lórien now." replied Arwen. "I hope she shall stay there many days."

"May all her hurts be washed away." said Anorion. "Would you come to see my family?"

"I would be honored."

They proceeded a little ways till they entered a great glade of _Laurinquë_ trees, whose long-hanging clusters of golden flowers formed a curtain. "We dwell here, for the most part, in telain." said Amarel. "Many of our folk dwells in houses, liken unto the men who never can come here, but my mother loves the trees and will not be parted from them."

"I can understand." replied Arwen, gazing with awestricken eyes at the ever falling, never fallen columns of flowers. "They are more beautiful than the _mellryn._ I wonder that my fore-mother could ever bear to leave this place."

"Artanis of Golden Hair, the _Nolde._ " amended Inglorion in answer to the questioning glances.

"Noble heritage." said Anorion with an approving nod. "Ah! _Nana_ , _Ada_ , we have brought a fair guest!"

Amarië and Finrod had been seated upon the green lawn, but they rose now. "Good evening." said Amarië. "And what name do you bear?"

Arwen bowed. "Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían."

Finrod, who towered over his delicate wife, frowned. "Elrond I have heard of, for he is the son of Ëarendil and Elwing, who dwells here upon the shore. But no news has come of Celebrían."

Arwen inclined her head. "She is the daughter of your sister, Lord Finrod, and of Celeborn the Sindar Lord."

Finrod smiled. "Bitter must indeed the ways be if I have not heard of my sister-daughter. So, you are of Lúthien's line then through your father? I thought she was mortal."

"Her choice is not passed down to her heirs. They make their own road, Lord Finrod." replied Arwen. "Though I must thank you for saving my forefather from death, or ere I would never have been here."

"Not only was it an oath, Beren son of Barahir was a friend. I honor you as his daughter." said Finrod. "But I desire to meet Galadriel's daughter? Where is she?"

"I dearly hope she is journeying to the gardens of Lórien, where she may find gentle dreams and forget her wounds."

"What happened then?" was Amarië's gentle inquiry.

"Orcs captured her." replied Arwen, her tone sharp. Memories of that time were not kind to her.

"Speak no more of it." said Amarië. The Vanya held a certain gentleness about her that charmed all. Calm and sweet, she soothed the troubled heart, and so she did with Arwen.

The Evenstar smiled, and passed the talk onto Amarel and Anorion, who were not loathe to speak praises of their home. Inglorion however, was often silent, though never brooding, as the light in his eye showed.

 _Laurinquë_

A tree with "long-hanging clusters of yellow flowers"

 _Mellyrn_

Plural of mallorn

 _Nolde_

Female Noldo

 _Telain_

Plural of talan


	3. Gardens of Irmo and Estë

"Will you tell me more of Galadriel, your sister?" asked Arwen finally, leaning forward with her chin on her hand.

Finrod's gaze was far away. "She was like the rest of us, proud and willing to do anything for our own lands. Like us, she wanted a land to call her own." A wry smile crossed his face. "Unlike us, she did not die and has made her realm into one of the fairest places east of the Sea. Perhaps it was well she did so."

"She has had her own share of the woes of Middle-Earth." returned the Undómiel.

"Who has not, who has lived more than a full moon?" replied Finrod. "She made her choices wisely. Now, tell me of Imladris."

Arwen frowned slightly. "If it would please, I would rather ask you a question before I enter into such a discourse. Where dwells Elwing?"

"She was given a tower to live in, by the shores of Eldamar." replied Finrod. "If you wish to meet her you shall, but you spoke of going after your mother."

Arwen nodded. "Yes, I would do that first."

Finrod rose. "Come now, let us journey. I desire to see my sister-daughter, and I have no doubt you wish to see her as well."

Arwen smiled and embraced him. "Thank you, Tôrana."

Inglorion looked pleased, but Anorion cautioned that I would take two weeks. Amarië shrugged lightheartedly. "Ah, but we have nothing to hold us here. The gardens of Irmo and Estë will be pleasant, and we must always help one of our kin."

"Yes, like Fëanor." murmured Anorion under his breath. Finrod ignored him, though there was an odd gleam in his blue eyes.

"Well then, let us go." said Amarië.

It did indeed take many days, even though they took the quickest route, but Arwen did not begrudge it, for the beauty of Valimar never grew old to her, and each glade of _Taniquelassë_ and _Yavannamírë_ brought fresh joy to her heart.

It was a dim morning when they came to the gardens of Irmo. High marble walls surrounded it, wrapped in gentle mists, but it was not cold. They entered without a sound, for the doors stood open. Great oaks and cypresses stood, and pines that towered over small, mist-wreathed pools. A silver haze was everywhere, dreamy, soft. The shapes were muted to their eyes, and quiet, echoing melodies, some of nightingales, but others were divine, holy, clear and faint with the same sleep that was everywhere. _Fumellar_ bloomed, the flowers of sleep, a soft red, dew drops rolling down their gently sweeping petals, and Arwen felt her cares being swept away. Gentle dreams were everywhere, glowworms shone amidst the dewy leaves. Far above their heads, and yet glimmering in the branches were stars.

There was an unseen song, a silent song below all this, a song of tranquility and ever-lasting peace, as soft dream-mist shrouded the gardens of Irmo in rest.

They were walking slow, and Arwen felt her heart slow in its beating as she felt a serenity of the Ages touch her. Fountains tinkled, but everything seemed dimmed to their eyes, and yet clear before them. She glanced to Inglorion, and found the Elf bewildered. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

He shook his head and smiled at her. Arwen turned back and held out her hand to touch one of the flowers that grew on the soft hedge and saw, for one mystifying moment, something near translucent, shaped as an Elf, tall and slender, but something far more holy. Hair cascaded down the figure's opaque back, and eyes looked out with a soft kindness. And then it was gone and Arwen stumbled backwards. Inglorion had been standing by her side, and caught her. "Did you see that?"

He laughed. "I doubt you would wish to say something so irreverent. Oftimes the Vàlar and Valier will come to the gardens of Irmo, and will step over the boundaries of a hröa."

Arwen drew in a stifled gasp. "You mean to say that I-?"

He nodded solemnly, blue eyes almost laughing. "Who do you think it was?"

"I do not know." she mused as they went forward. "Somehow though….I think it was the Lady Yavanna. Though I have no testimony for this, I will not believe it else."

"It may well have been Queen Kementári." Inglorion replied. "Mayhaps one day you will see her in a hröa, and then know."

Arwen smiled. "That would be an honor." She glanced around the winding hedges. "Where do you think _Nana_ is?"

Amarel heard her and looked back. "The gardens and halls of Irmo are vast. But do not fear. We shall find her."

Arwen sighed, but unrest could not linger long here. Often she saw shades drifting through the garden, only visible when the dim light caught upon them, or the shadow played a different pattern. "Being outside the boundaries of a hröa seems rather good." she said softly, almost to herself, but Inglorion heard her.

"Sometimes I think so, and sometimes I do not. Ada speaks sometimes of being in the Halls of Mandos. He said that while being stripped of body he was so attuned to ached, it was not wholly miserable, but grew wearisome. And while the Válar and Valier may change into physical shape at their wish, he could not."

Arwen nodded. "We were created this way for a reason, and we must seek to find it. However, I would rather not die and experience what it was like being only in a fëa."

He laughed. His laughter was quick, reflected Arwen, a trait she deeply loved, and she had heard such sounds seldom. "Yes and no fear, for you are in the Undying Realms."

She smiled at him, willing to replicate the same merriment he always had. "Indeed, and I am very glad."

"Arwen!"

As all in this mystical place, the voice was muted with the dream-mist that wound a peaceful way, but it was very clear to the ears of the Evenstar. Celebrían was leaning against a cypress, but she straightened as she saw her daughter, and Arwen smiled with relief. The lines of pain etched so deeply on her noble brow and around her tender eyes were nearly gone. The sparkle of life had come back, and Celebrían smiled, embracing Arwen warmly. "I am so glad you have come." she whispered, her voice filled with the sweet melody that had been lacking. "And who are your fair companions?" she asked, turning towards Finrod and his family.

Arwen stepped away, gesturing to each in turn. "This is Finrod, and Amarië his wife. And these are their children, Anorion and Amarel, and this is Inglorion."

Celebrían looked surprised. "Finrod!"

"You are Galadriel's daughter, are you not?" he asked, coming forward. She acknowledged this with a nod of her silver head. "You have surely heard of me."  
Celebrían smiled. "Indeed, so I have. Galadriel spoke often of all her brothers, and you not the least. I see you had a bitter death, but this life has more than paid for it, has it not?"

Finrod smiled and glanced to Amarië, holding her slender hand. "Indeed it has, Celebrían. And who have you wed?"

"Elrond the Peredhil."

"Ah. And Elwing his mother dwells in a tower not far from here, by the strand of Eldermar."

Celebrían's jaw tensed. "Indeed. If there is a faithless mother among the Eldar, surely she is that."

Finrod sighed. "She bitterly regrets her choice, and so do not to be harsh with her. But come now, we are in the Gardens of Irmo and Estë, and it is a fair place of peace. I think we will live you with your daughter for a time, and then we shall speak more, I hope." Celebrían nodded, and the others moved off into the warm depths of the garden. Arwen sat down on a marble bench, and her mother sat by her. "How are you?" the Evenstar inquired at last, though Celebrían's face bore testimony to all she had hoped.

"I am at home." replied her mother with a smile. "All the pain is fading swiftly. I can sleep now and not dream of Hell."

"I am very glad." replied Arwen earnestly, glancing around the Gardens of Peace.

 _Taniquelassë-_ An evergreen and fragrant tree.

 _Yavannamírë_ -An evergreen and fragrant tree with globed and scarlet fruits

 _Hröa_ -body

 _Fëa_ -soul

 _Valier_ -plural of Valië, female.

 _Fumellar_ -the flowers of sleep, lit. poppy in Qenya


	4. Of the Maiar

" _(_ The gardens of Irmo are said to be _) the fairest of all places in the world, filled with many spirits."_

~ **The Silmarillion, Valaquenta**

They rose and wandered a little through the gardens, and spoke softly of a few things, and then Celebrían returned to her seat, and Arwen went alone. This place beckoned her to something she had not yet seen, yet fate ordained she must. The nightingale singing drew her, and she came to a glade of cypress, ringing round a misty pool.

"Lúthien!" The voice broke in divine tones that rang through her, and the Evenstar leapt, spinning round. She saw no one. Then, in front of the tallest tree, a figure appeared. Glossy blue-black hair fell down the slender back, a face more divine and fair than Arwen could ever dream. She was clad in soft silks of violet, and no jewels adorned her white neck nor noble brow, but her eyes were enough to account for any gems of the earth, for they shone silver as clear waters, deep as the Sea, gathering grey dream mists. A holiness shrouded her, like a mantle of starlight, and Arwen felt the same awe she had felt when she had saw Queen Kementári, scarcely less now.

"My Lady." Arwen whispered, overcome with wonder, for she now knew who this was. "I am not Lúthien."

The Maia stepped forward, eyes wide with hope unlooked for. "But surely you must be her. You are so like, _so_ like her."

Arwen shook her head. "Nay, I am Arwen Evenstar, daughter of the Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían."

Melian's face remained expressionless, but the sorrow of her eyes tore at the Undómiel's heart. "Yes." she whispered. "Yes, and well met."

"I am sorry." replied Arwen. "I did not mean to come upon you unawares, and dash your hopes, Lady Melian."

A faint smile played upon the Maia's lips. "No, you did not know, whereas I should have. Welcome to the gardens of Irmo, Evenstar, and may your stay be restful." She motioned to a marble bench, carved with intricate patterns. "Come, will you sit? I wish to speak with you, if I may."

"With all pleasure." exclaimed Arwen eagerly. Melian's slender hands were folded in her lap, gazing at Arwen with a look so piercing and yet so gentle Arwen was torn between fear and instant love. "Of what do you wish to speak to me, my Lady?"

"You are of my daughter's line." It was no question, it was a final statement, and Arwen nodded. "What brings you here?"

"Lady, you have foresight." replied Arwen softly. "You know why."

Melian bent her head in brief assent, but her gaze was still fixed upon Arwen's face. Something happened when she had come near the Maia. She was more acutely aware of the small things that comprised beauty as a whole, of the silver dew-drops rolling down the arching fern, the delicate, fluttering wings of the white moths, the red poppies that bent their head in the soft breeze. It seemed new to her, and yet not so, for she saw nothing she did not know, and yet somehow she perceived them different, changed for the better.

"I wish your mother healing."

Startled, the Evenstar turned round. Melian held out her hand in Elvish greeting and laid it on Arwen's shoulder. The Elf did the same. Something was wrapped the Nightingale Queen, a cloak of divinity indeed. And then Melian was gone, disappearing, and by the faint light that filtered in she briefly saw a figure moving with grace amongst the woven branches.

It was with breathless excitement Arwen returned to her mother's side. "Nana! I saw her! I saw Queen Melian!"

Celebrían, roused from dreams, gazed up at her daughter in uncomprehending wonder for a moment, and then smiled. "Did you indeed? What do you think of her now?"

Arwen shook her head. "She is Melian-Queen, and that is all that can be said of her, and surely it is enough honor for all of Endur to glory in, that she trod upon that shore."

Celebrían laughed lightly. "Indeed. I have never seen her before, but perhaps I shall."

Arwen sat down, leaning her chin on her hand. "I feel we are being watched, always. I would rather that the Maiar and Vàlar would take bodily shape among us."

"You will grow used to it, after a time. They had a strange skill, of imprinting their name upon your mind, and you cannot shake it off, even though you had no proof it was them."

Arwen sat in silence for a while, and then said. "Nana, when will you come back to Tol Eressëa?"

Celebrían's face grew solemn. "Little Star, not for a long time. They did darker torments to me then you shall ever know."

Arwen bit her lips. "Tell me, Nana. Do you not trust me?"

Celebrían leaned forward, the loose silver tresses glimmering in the pale light, and Arwen saw with a pang that though they had grown lustrous once more, the starlit glory had been shorn to the shoulders. "It is because I love you and trust you I do not want you to know. Be content that I am healing."

"Shall I stay with you?" asked the Undómiel at last.

"Do what you wish. I see you have an affection for Finrod and his family, and if you desire to journey back with them, do not stay for my sake." A smile curved her lips and sparkled in her eyes, that old mischievous gleam that Arwen had so missed and so loved, and she returned it. "Very well, Nana. I shall journey back."

"With Inglorion and Anorion." added Celebrían with a laugh. "So be it."

Arwen felt a blush creeping over her cheeks. "Yes, of course." she said hastily. "Let me speak to Finrod and Amarië, but I think we can stay this night."

It was arranged, and Amarel and Arwen had spoken with Celebrían, and now they left her sleeping, and went amongst Lórien. "It is very beautiful." said Arwen at last.

A smile sparkled in Amarel's blue eyes as she gazed into the depths of a dream-silver pool. "It is so. The stars are shining brighter. But to speak the truth, I found it too dreamy for me, and would rather be a place that is more….alive. I have no wounds to heal, and so this excess peace is almost irksome."

"But the Válar come here, and surely they have no woes, as well as the Maiar."

Amarel inclined her golden head. "But we are Elf-Kind, they are gods. We cannot pretend to understand their ways. Hark!" Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she seized Arwen's arm. Startled, the _elleth_ glanced around the gardens, and then drew her breath in with a soft gasp. "Ai Válar." she exclaimed, stepping back in wonder.

One of the Maiar stood there, clad in a body. Red-gold rainment rippled in never-ceasing flames over her, fire-like hair in torrent over her shoulders. It did not seem she walked upon this earth but rather glided, surrounded in a light that seemed forcibly subdued and yet still shone with piercing brightness. a hazy gold clothing her through which shone a white light. "Arien." breathed Amarel, and for one instant the Lady of the Sun turned and looked up them, and such was the spirit of her eyes it pierced them, and the two shrank back, but Arien smiled upon them. "Fear not, Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar. I bear no ill will to Eldalië."

Arwen trembled. Her voice was a chord of fiery strength, beautiful and perilous. "It is well you do not, Lady of Laurelin."  
Lady Arien laughed softly. "Perhaps. I would advise you to walk softly tonight. Lord Irmo and the Lady Estë are abroad."

Amarel nodded and together they went from the place, for Arien was the most fearful and powerful they had yet seen. "Do you think we shall see the Master of Dreams?" she asked in a hushed whisper.  
Arwen glanced around her. "I do not know, but we shall see many things strange and wonderful."


	5. Passing By

They passed by many shades, both fair and powerful, but saw neither the Lord of Dreams or the Lady of Peace, and at last, slightly disappointed, returned to where Celebrían was resting. To Arwen's surprise, she saw a Maia, clad in a hröa, standing some distance from where she slept. "Pardon me." she asked, and he turned to her, his soft robes of dream-blue silent. "Yes?" His voice was soothing, calm and restful. Arwen struggled to find something to say. "What are you doing, my Lord?"  
"The Lady Estë has sent me to attend to Celebrían. I am a servant of Estë and Lórien." he continued, in answer to Arwen's unspoken question. "And am called Isilwë."

"Well met, Lord Isilwë." murmured Amarel and Arwen together.

He inclined his silver head, a glint of laughter showing in blue eyes. "The dawn is coming, and the family of Finrod are readying for the journey back."

Amarel looked around her, and though a pale tinge of gentle rose tinted the mists and new blooms opened among the Fumellar flowers, not much of the morning shone. Arwen stooped and kissed her mother's forehead, careful not to rouse her, and whispered to Isilwë. "If, my Lord, you could tell I had gone hence when she wakes…"

He smiled. "I shall."

Amarel was calling to her, so with one last look at her mother, she dashed after her. They found that though Amarië looked at peace, the gentleness of the gardens suited the tenderness of the Vanya, both Inglorion and Anorion seemed overly-anxious to leave. Since they had no wounds to heal, the peacefulness seemed in excess to them.

When they stepped out of the marble walls, the rich gold of sunlight nearly blinded them, and after the muted fragrances of Lórien, the air smelled sharp and sweet. Arwen shaded her eyes, gazing around her. "That is Mount Oiolosse?" she asked, gazing at the peak that rose high and stern in majesty, touching the stars with its manifold crown of stone.

Amarië stepped up beside her. "Indeed. Elbereth dwells there, and Manwë Súlimo, Queen of the Stars and King of the Wind."

It was a sweeter journey back, without the tinge of worry, and much laughter often rung. They met some Elves on the way, and a few of the Maiar. They stopped at Alqualondë, arriving there in the twilight. It was a fair city, and yet there was still a soft touch of sadness in the air, for in Valimar, countless years may pass and bring little change. Swan-ships still arched their elegant bows, and here there came the Teleri, the singers of the shore, but their song seemed muted. A few drew away upon seeing Noldor, and most of all the son of Finarfin.

0~0

By the shores rose a white tower, which Finrod said was the home of Elwing, but they did not go, and Arwen thought this for the best, and she would rather have her mother by her side when she met her father's mother.

The glades of _Laurinquë_ in _Tol Eressëa_ seemed all the fairer, with the cascade of golden blossoms nearly touching the fragrant grass. It was home-like, a realm fairer and sweeter than Lothlórien, but it would never fade or wither.

"Arwen. Wake, I want to show you something."

The Evenstar stirred, glancing first at the dropping columns of golden flowers of the Laurinquë, and then at Inglorion's face, alight with starlight and excitement. She smiled at him. "I was not sleeping, only dreaming." She rose to her feet. "What is it?"

Inglorion took her hand and led her swiftly through the towering glades. The sweet scent of the golden flowers filled the moonlit air around them. Slowly she became conscious of a music that had so pulsed in her blood it seemed nothing unusual, but as she neared it, it thrilled through her. Waves of beauty crashed upon her as that ancient melody filled the air, an ache because it's fairness. It was rising clear to the starlit, every trembling as the flute was played with loving hands, the harp strummed with a tender heart. The Evenstar shivered as the sound throbbed, filling the air, singing in the skies. Together they looked out and she saw the weavers of the melody, but she saw something more.

Dancers, dancers of exquisite grace, reaching for the stars of Varda and falling short only by a hands-breadth. Exhilaration pounded through them as well, and they spun to the note of the music. Now calm, swans gliding, now frantic, gulls wheeling, but ever with the same litheness of motion, the rise and fall in tune to the song.

Arwen felt it, the irresistible call to join their voices, join their dances. The song pulsated on the silver air. "What is this?" she whispered.

Inglorion's eyes were fixed on the dancers. "It is an ancient dance, a dance to honor Yavanna Kementári and Vàna Everyoung." He looked at her at last. "I think you should go with them, Undómiel."

Arwen winced. Even the siren call of the song could not utterly make her. "They are the Vanyar, Inglorion, blessed with grace and beauty beyond ours."

"You can say that, who has been called as Lúthien! You know that none could match the grace of her slender feet, and her song was as potent as her mother's."  
Arwen shook her head. "Not now. I do not know the dance."

"Don't be foolish." he snorted. "None can be taught this dance, it flows in their blood as soon as the music plays. Can you not feel it?"

Another thrill passed through her as the flute hung shimmering on a high note, and then plummeted down in a cascade of ocean spray. "Yes." she whispered. "But now let me watch only, Inglorion."

He did so, and they sat in silence till the dawn came. The dancers paused, the music halted as the rose of morning paled the stars and Arien rose with the fruit of Laurelin into the sky. They dispersed then as swiftly as flitter-mice, save one.

Amarel stood beside them, her pale face flushed, her golden hair in wild glory. "Playing the spy, brother?"

Inglorion looked untroubled. "No, only admiring your skill. You danced well."

Amarel smiled. "I thank you. You know the festival of Queen Kementári is approaching."

"When?" asked Arwen eagerly.

"In the first _lemnar_ of _Nárië_ , five days from hence. It is when spring and summer joins hands, and makes sweet revelry together."

"I am sure it will be beautiful." said Arwen earnestly. "Your dancing was….awe-inspiring, Amarel. Truly."

Amarel smiled, her sweet face beautiful in the rising light. "I must flee now. I leave you to your tryst."

Inglorion lay over on his back, watching the globed crimson fruits of the _Yavannamírë_ shone in the sunlight. "Do you consider this your home now, Arwen?" he asked suddenly, raising his golden head to look at her.

Arwen smiled down at him, playing with a tress of ebony hair. "Yes, yes, I suppose so. It is all very beautiful. I remember my homeland customs-in their wild fairness, but this is more suited to me. I love both, if you understand me."

"Wilder?" questioned Inglorion curiously, resting his chin on his hand.

Arwen nodded. "Yes. Here in Valinor is all peace. I was always the dove amongst eaglets. My kin loved the warrior dance, I never cared for it, I loved my _DaerNana_ 's tales of the beauty and serenity of the Blessed Realms, but my brothers were elsewise in mind. They were watching the Warrior Dance."

"Warrior Dance?" asked _Finrodion_ again.

Arwen had been plaiting lissuin blossoms into her hair for lack of other things to do, dropped the braid. "It is a beautiful thing, I admit, even though I was the dove." She laughed. "It is an exercise in speed and skill. Knives and Elf whirl faster and faster, careening to the bare edge of control, the steel glinting broken dervishes of light. I saw a warrior once, of the Greenwood. He stripped a fall sapling bare of its leaves in that dance, and did not notch a twig."

"It does indeed sound wild." admitted Inglorion. "In a fair way."

"Indeed. The Laiquendi were masters of it, with their natural grace….their movements are fluid and war-like."

Inglorion rose to his feet, and courteously offered her his hand, his fair face boyish and merry. "Come now, the dawn is only coming. Shall we wander here for a while?"

Arwen accepted his hand with a smile. "I would like that indeed."


	6. Kith and Kin

They had wandered the golden glades until the sunlight flooded the place, at which Arwen suggested that they might go back to what was now home.

Amarië was seated alone, the liquid gold of her hair falling smooth and free. She gathered up her white skirts. " _Anon_ , what have you been doing?"

Inglorion smiled. "I took Arwen to see the preparation dance of Queen Kementári, _Ammë_. I hope that did not displease you." He bent to kiss his mother's forehead.  
Amarië smiled. "No. What did you think of it, Arwen?"

"It was beautiful." said Arwen, seating herself in the fragrant grass. "I truly never could have even dreamed of such a thing."

Amarië seemed well pleased, as she knelt down besides Arwen. "It is. I have often danced there, but when Finrod left, I had no more heart. All the joy was gone, and my steps stumbled." She brightened, her blue eyes joyful again. "That is all in the past now. Finrod, you need not spy!" she called, raising her voice. "You know how much I love you."

The tall son of Finarfin picked his bride easily up, and kissed her. "Of course I do, _melnya_."

Arwen politely averted her eyes, staring out at the _ninlòs_ blossoms in the grass. They were azure, cresting into a pale, blue streaked center. They held little scent, but she considered them very beautiful, more beautiful than the lissuin which held sway in a golden carpet over Tol Eressëa.

" _Amarië arin, Amarië_." Finrod said, and they laughed, as if sharing some jest.

Finrod set his wife back on her feet and smiled at Arwen. "Good morning."

"Good morning, _Nésatar_." she replied, standing up.

"How was your night?" asked Finrod, with a small smile.

Arwen flushed. "It was-it went well, thank you."

Finrod nodded his golden head.

" _Nésatar_ , how long do you think _Nana_ will be?"

Finrod blinked. " _Nana_? Oh, _Ammë_. My Sindarin is somewhat blunted, I am afraid. I do not know. She will know instinctively when she is healed, and I am sure she wishes to come as soon as may be. Not more than a fortnight, I would wager."

Arwen sighed. "A fortnight?"

"Yes. Is it so dull here?" he asked with a smile.

Arwen blushed. "Oh, no….Please do not mistake me, I truly am grateful for all you have done. But I still miss…. _Ammë._ " 

Amarië patted her shoulder. "I understand you somewhat. But I fear all the peace in Valinor is dreary after living, as it were, upon the edge of a knife."  
"It will take some getting used to." admitted Arwen, laughing. "It is not at all dreary, though. How can it be, with so much beauty?"

"The forest of _Yavannamírë_ are all in fruit." said Finrod, inclining his head north. "It is well worth it to go there."

"Yes, it is." agreed Inglorion, who had come upon them. "I could take you there, Arwen, if you want."

Amarië laughed wryly. "Then take Amarel with you."

"I shall." he said hastily. "Do we go today?"

Arwen nodded eagerly. "Yes, please do!"

They found the wood of _Yavannamírë_ beautiful. The globed crimson fruits were plentiful and the dark glossiness of the evergreen leaves bright and fair.

"Who is that?" asked Arwen suddenly, drawing up. The voice sounded very much like her father's, clear and mellow.

Amarel shook her head. "I know not. But you can see them." She gave Arwen a gentle push to keep her moving, but Arwen froze.

Two Elves were walking there, male and female. The Elf-Lady was silver-haired, with delicate features and wide green eyes. But the Elf-Lord was very tall, black hair plaited back intricately, and deep eyes, grey as the sea, with a face that was indeed like Lord Elrond's.

In turn, both of them drew up sharply. "Is that your _Naneth_?" asked the Lady softly.

The other shook his head. "No, that is not her. Yet, they are so similar."

Arwen smiled faintly. "I am no one's mother, my Lord. I am Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Lord Elrond."

"I know that name. So you are the twin of my mother, Lúthien?"

Arwen gasped. "So you are Dìor the Fair."

"That is my name, and this is my wife, Nimloth."

Arwen laughed softly. "Tol Eressëa holds many wonders, my Lord and Lady! These are my companions, Inglorion and Amarel, son and daughter of Finrod and Amarië."

The pair inclined their heads. "Well met."

"Yes, indeed, well met." said Arwen eagerly. "I had not looked to find you here, but I am glad of it."  
Dìor's smile was bright, but his eyes were sad. "Neither had I looked to find one of my kin here."

Arwen's smile faltered. "I remind you too much of your mother, do I not?"

Dìor looked up, his eyes fixed upon a glossy fruit above Arwen's black head before he answered, and his voice was choked. "Yes."

"I am sorry." she said contritely. "We will…..pass you by."

Once they were gone, Inglorion laughed softly. "You have kin everywhere, Arwen."

She shrugged, a sudden gloom resting on her. "Yes. And I remind everyone of their dead loved one."

"That is none of your doing." Amarel said.

Arwen sighed, turning back to her friends. "No, I suppose it isn't. But on to merry things. Are you ready for your dance, Amarel?"

The Elf-maid laughed. "Yes. We have one more trial, and then we shall be prepared."

The days passed swiftly in anticipation. Arwen was regaled with tales of wonder from all sides of the festivals in honor of the Válar, and she waited for the day eagerly.

 _(_ All of these are Quenya)

 _Amarië arin, Amarië_ -Good morning, Amarië.

 _Ammë-_ mother

 _Anon_ -son

 _Melnya_ -my love

 _Ninlòs_ -blue flower

 _Nésatar -_ Uncle


	7. Nost-na-Lothion

The first day of June arrived, very bright and clear, and a hum of preparation broke out everywhere. Yavanna's festival was the feast of _Nost-na-Lothion(1)_ , a spring celebration. Amarel had disappeared at the first sign of dawn. From everywhere, flowers were being gathered, from great tangling strands in which the _lissuin_ grew, to the tall stalks of the _Indilya_ to the small flowers of _ninlòs._

When afternoon came, then they joined a great troupe of Elves, heading to the center of Tol Eressëa. When they came, many were already there, and the meadow, fringed with great glades of _Yavannamírë_ , Queen Kementári's most beloved tree, was alight with thousands of flowers. Garlands and wreaths hung everywhere. In the center of the small field was a lake, oval in shape, and as blue as the sky. Water-lilies drifted on its surface, their delicate blossoms making the edges of the water pure white.

Already flute and lyre were being played, and crystal notes and clear songs were drifting on the breeze. Arwen was watching the preparations with great curiosity. They had celebrated The Feast of Flowers in Imladris, but this was wholly new to her. "They will not truly begin till the evening." whispered a voice by her side.

She turned and smiled at Inglorion. "And will Queen Kementári actually come?"

"Yes." said Inglorion eagerly. "She and her _Maiar_. Few actually see them…I have never, but we feel their presence."

"Well, I hope we may this time." replied Arwen softly. Out loud, she added. "This glade must be larger than it looks. There are so many of us, and it seems so small, yet we are not crowded."

Inglorion laughed. "That may be! Some are in the forest though, or close to its ourskirts. Have you seen Amarel, by the by?"  
Arwen smiled. "No….yes!" She pointed, as the Elf-maid came dashing towards them. She was clad in white, with a girdle of _lissuin_ and many flowers in the gold depths of her hair. Her blue eyes shone with excitement. "Two hours at the most." she announced breathlessly, sitting cross-legged on the lush grass. "And then we begin!"

The other two joined her. "Where are the rest of you?" asked Arwen, looking around her.

Amarel waved her hand. "Hither and yon. _Nost-na-Lothion_ is well known for being a tryst for lovers. Youths have not to search hard for flowers." She added with a grin. "But they will come when the sun sets."

Arwen giggled. "So I see!"

Ingorion looked up. "I think I see Anorion with one of your dancers, sister. I shall go and try to rescue her."

He left them in laughter, and the two wandered amongst the glades and the people, till at last the sun set. Then Amarel left her, and Arwen sat a small hillock and watched the disappearing sun tint the plume-like clouds with shades of gold and rose, till at last the deep beauty of the descending night came upon them. There was no moon, but the stars shone with silvery clearness that lit the great canopy of the sky.

There was silence, neither instrument nor bird nor voice broke the silence. A holy awe seemed to rest on the clearing.

And then one flute broke the silence, and only added to the wonder. It was soft, and poignant, and wordlessly it sang of all things that grow and add to their beauty, and the sustaining love that makes them do such.

Visions came before their eyes, of blossoms unfurling to the dawn, of trees that grow stronger and taller by the very hour. Of fruit ripening on the bough, of long fields of grass, amber-tipped in its readiness. Of damp grass glittering with rain. Of the first snowdrop, the single flower among winter snows. Of pale mists of bluebells gleaming with morning dew.

Seamlessly the dancers came, and in flawless accord more instruments were added to that of the flute, and the music swelled and rolled, ancient monoliths branching up, birds nesting in their branches, of grey-green light filtering through to play dappled patterns on the mossy floor beneath. A clear voice added itself to the song. High above the rest it rolled, and yet in perfectly melded harmony, the harmony all growing things have towards each other.

Then the music became a little deeper, a little stronger and the dancers leapt a little higher, and greater things were shown, the wonder of beauty. To the stars they wheeled, at one with the music, and their movements became quicker, more fervent, till at last thoughts and dream rolled before their eyes in unheard imagery.

And then the notes became to grow softer once more, till only the flute was left, and the singer was silent and the dancers still. On sweet notes it lingered, till at last it fell like star-shimmer, and there was no sound left.

On a hill not far from where Arwen sat, caught by the moonlight, the Elf-maid saw a figure, her hands outstretched, her face upturned to the starlight, and her breath was caught in her throat.

She was clad in an emerald green, and her hair was black, decorated with a great headdress of flowers and ferns. Her face seemed not so beautiful, and yet it was, with a perfection indescribable, lit with a great love, towards all living things.

All was still and silent, as Yavanna spread her love towards all gathered there. Awe hung trembling in the air, and answering love sprang in their hearts, and wonder. Swift moments it seemed when Kementári was gone, and yet dawn was springing in the sky, rose streaked when they lifted their eyes to the heavens.

As one they breathed deeply and rose. The flowers were bright and fresh with morning dew, and there they left them.

The journey home was filled with merriment, and Amarel, after leaving her companions, managed to get up to her brothers. "Inglorion?"

The golden-haired Elf looked down at his smaller sister. "Yes?"

"Aendë did _not_ wish to be 'rescued'."

Yet in its time a spring of wondrous glory melted the skirts of those white mantles and the valley drank the waters and burst into flowers. So came and passed with revelry of children the festival of Nost-na-Lothion or the Birth of Flowers. _171 and 172 of the Book of Lost Tales 2._


	8. Yestarë

**Chapter 8:** _ **Yestarë**_

And so the months went by, unfading flowers to be held in perfect memory as they drifted by, and then came again, golden petals unchanged by the stream that was time in timeless Valinor.

It was _Súlimë_ , the twelfth and last month, and the season of the Winds. When its last day came, _Mettarë_ , Arwen held a promise that her mother would come with the tidings of _Yestarë_.

Now she and Inglorion wandered in a pleasant silence through the glades. The winter had been warm, though the earth was at rest. Now, the sharp fragrance of growing things was in the air, and buds unfurled from tree and flower.

" _Vinílë_ ," said Inglorion at last, his sturdy hand warm in hers. Arwen met his clear blue eyes with an expectant smile, though a chill raced through her.

"Yes, Inglorion?"

"Do you await for someone to come?"

A black brow arched as Arwen watched him. "Aye. Of course. My brothers and my father still dwell in the land of darkness."

"Of course." amended the golden-haired son of Finrod. "But do not consider me calloused if I pass them by. Any others?"

"I was a solitary maiden. I had many acquaintances but few true friends. Those I await for eagerly." said the Evenstar, pulling a wisp of ebony hair behind a pointed ear. She felt half guilty for tormenting him so. She understood the true intent of this hesitant questioning well enough.

Inglorion groaned in exasperation. "Your eyes shine-you delight in this taunting! Come now and tell me, please. Have you a lover on hither shores or have you not?"

Arwen smiled shyly, but her starlit eyes were wide and teasing. "I have not, Inglorion."

His face was solemn as he looked down into hers. "Would you then accept one?"

"I would." she said softly. "But I would accept _you_ as more."

"I have no ring."

"Troths may be bound with a kiss." she whispered.  
"So be it." he replied. She was gathered in his arms, lifted from her feet, and kissed.

The Elves of Tol Eressëa had journeyed inland, and the Elves of Tirion and Alqualondë, had gone to Valmar, where it lay overlooked by the towering mount of Taniquetil.

Arwen had accompanied Amarel to the preparation in the grove, and now the two wandered back through the glades, laughing over some misstep Arwen had done during the rehearsal.

The ebony-haired Elf was gasping with mirth and exertion. "The _Súlilta_ is hard, Amarel! You must not blame me for that mistake!"

Amarel sprung into the air with a light laugh, balancing now on one foot as she spun herself around. "But the way you did it!" She mimicked the step Arwen should have done, a move done in air, arms outspread but head and legs thrown back. She landed gracefully, instead of the tumble Undómiel had accomplished.

Arwen only laughed harder. "I learned, I learned. See?"

She emulated Amarel, but the golden-haired Vanya shook her head. "No, no, no. Your right leg comes forward farther, your left leg bends almost like you are kneeling. And keep your arms spread out, palms flat, like the wind is bearing you."  
Arwen groaned and redid her move. "Better?" she asked, arching a brow cynically.

Amarel folded her arms over her chest, the close-fitting, silky blue of her garment wrinkling. "A little. Try once more."

It was many minutes before Amarel was satisfied, and Arwen sat on the fragrant grass, exhausted. "Truly, you have so tired me that I will not be able to perform this eve."

"Dear gods, you must. You have a crucial position in the dance. And you do remember your song, do you not?" fretted Amarel, twining the vining flowers of _malmia_ in her hands. The scarlet _cirincë_ flitted and piped in the golden leaves of Laurinquë above them.

Arwen sighed, playing with sleek cloth of her silver dress. "Yes, Amarel."

It was deep midnight, but a thousand stars lit up the skies. The New Year would not begin till Arien bore the sun aloft.

The air whispered in cool breezes that thrilled over the silent masses, and the long grasses rose and fell like a tide, their seed-gold heads clattered together.

The cry of an eagle sounded, uttered by an instrument made with Elvish craft. That was the signal to begin.

Thronged round the western slopes of the Ever-white Mountain, the musicians began, tunes that run in thin and chilling melodies, rising in high and sharp crescendos to whisper into nothing, only to be reborn.

Gradually a choir of voices was added, some deep, invoking images of dark trees and old caverns, some piercing and high, like the soaring winds that touch the stars, quavering into a rhythm, singing themselves into words.

"Súindor, sornë-hér, tulwë ryatar ioasta súrë

 _Wind King, Eagle Lord, we come in the month of winds_

Lé lindë lirlwë anatyë, Súlimo, Esseltar.

 _With airy tunes,we sing to you, Súlimo, Elder King._

Héro i Númen, Héro i Arda, Héro i Válar,

 _Lord of the West, Lord of Arda, Lord of the Válar_

Illume vëalde tulrya o tuilë, tá o lantalasselingëa

 _When your winds come in spring, then the sound of falling leaves is music_

O Venno i Varda, andë velicë vanrya melehtyë

 _O Husband of Star-Queen, you are great in beauty and power_

O Súlimo! O Súlimo!"

As the last notes came quivering into silence, held onto by clear voices, carried away by a breeze, then sprang the dancers, mimicking the flight of eagles born on the wings of the wind. By Elven magic they sprang high, and as each leapt before the last landed, it seemed their feet were never fated to touch ground.

When the stars grew pale in the skies, and dawn rose, then Arwen searched among the crowds for her mother. Suddenly her hand was caught and held in a tender grasp, and she turned to look, but before she could do that, the cool feel of metal was upon her finger.

It was a silver ring.

She smiled at Inglorion. "I have no ring."

He laughed heartily. "Neither did I expect you too, _Vinílë_."

Arwen redrew with her hand gently, and pushing back the soft sable masses of hair, unclasped the chain that lay upon her breast. "But I have this."

Inglorion bent his golden head as she clasped the necklet around his neck. The white jewel shone like a star, glinting in the newrisen light.

With a soft kiss, Arwen departed, her left hand clasped over her ring-hand, the smooth silver seeming surreal to her touch. A silver head stood out against the dark hair of the Noldor throng, and Arwen pressed her way to it, to be clasped in her mother's tight embrace.

When she was at last released, she looked up. Celebrían was smiling, her blue eyes lit with a light Arwen had not seen even in the prime of her life on Middle-Earth. The cruelly shorn hair was thick and long, and she….was smiling, smiling in earnest. "You danced beautifully, sweet daughter." Her mother's eyes quickly accessed the missing necklace. "You have given it away then."

Arwen looked down. "I know it was an heirloom, but yes, _Naneth,_ I have."  
Celebrían lifted her chin. The brilliant rays of a golden sun were shining bright, and a wind stirred her hair. It was the dawning of _Yestarë_ , of the first day of the newborn year. "I would not have it any other way, my Evenstar. _Undómiel_. _Vinílë."_

 **The End**

 _Súlimë_ \- Quenya for March, and the last month of the year.

 _Mettarë_ \- Last day of the Elvish year.

 _Yestarë -_ First day of the new year

 _Vinílë_ \- Quenya for Undómiel\Evenstar

 _Súlilta_ \- Wind Dance

 _Malmia_ \- small, pale yellow flowers

 _Cirincë -_ birds "no bigger than wrens, but all scarlet, with piping voices on the edge of human hearing."

*The white gem is the jewel she would have given Frodo.


End file.
